


Family Recipes

by orphan_account



Category: Captain Underpants Series - Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie (2017)
Genre: Egg Casserole, F/M, For a Friend, Mentions of Jasper Krupp, This really was fun to write, about time I did some fluff, because now that I have his name it's easier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He hadn’t meant anything by it. The comment had just been given in passing, a throwaway thing tossed out somewhere in the too and fro of absent-minded conversation. Really, it wasn’t anything.…However.---Edith tries to recreate the late Mrs. Krupp's latka recipe and it all goes to pot (pun intended)





	Family Recipes

**Author's Note:**

> A GIFT FOR THE LOVELY ANOSTALGICPLACEFORME, who made this fantastic picture after we had been talking about Edith's cooking habbits.  
> https://anostalgicplaceforme.tumblr.com/post/164014048223/he-has-an-xiety-edith-u-gotta-stop-but-on-the  
> (Go look, go look go look it's fantastic) 
> 
> Ah, I wanted to actually write, you know, something NICE and FLUFFY, give myself a bit of a change of senery since most of the stuff I write for this fandom ends up being rather...depressing at times. As such, Ben's a bit more chill here, and Edith is less jumpy. I wrote it with the idea they'd been seeing eachother for a while and have worked out a majority of the stuff regarding the Captain.
> 
> It feels so good to write again. Sorry for the hiatus, but I hope you guys enjoy!  
> Also, thank you to Lunaillusions, HazeyKate2, and Elanafml for betaing this. I really...I just really wanted to get this right. 
> 
> Cheers!

       He hadn’t meant anything by it. The comment had just been given in passing, a throwaway thing tossed out somewhere in the too and fro of absent-minded conversation. Really, it wasn’t anything.

       …However.

       Edith stared into the depths of the frypan, listening to the soft hiss as tiny bubbles bloomed and popped under the waxy light of her oven hood. She had never met the late Mrs. Krupp, and Ben didn’t really talk about her, but she had seen a picture of the woman. It had been only after she had convinced Ben that going to visit his brother wouldn’t actually kill him. The faded polaroid sat in a tin frame, mixed into the milieu of other, newer photos that sat atop the mantle in Jasper and Daniella’s living room. It had caught that strange slant of light thrown in through the window from the early New Jersey snow outside, and Edith couldn’t help but ask about it once she had locked eyes with the woman in the polka-dot one-piece with the bouffant hair flanked by two small children.

       “Oh jeeze,” Jasper had mumbled around a mouth of sugar cookie, gesturing with a napkin containing two more, “That’s mom.”

       “What?”

       “Yeah,” he had wiped his hand off on his jeans before picking it up and using his thumb to point, “That’s mom when she was… oh shoot, how old was I? Hey, Ben!”

       A sigh had come from the other room as well as a short laugh from Daniella.

       Jasper rolled his eyes, “Ben, that day at the shore, like, right before the ferris wheel got taken out by that tropical storm, how old were you?”

       There was a pause, then, “Why?”

       “Because I’m trying to remember how old I was when this photo was taken.”

       “…What?”

       Which had led to him wandering in followed close behind by Danny, which had lead to the debate about what year this photo was taken in, which had lead to, well-

       Really, he hadn’t meant anything by it.

       Edith had to focus on this part, scooping the mixture out of the bowl and carefully placing it into the oil. The last thing she wanted was for it to splash, but her shaking hands really weren’t working with her at the moment.

       She huffed, setting the bowl down with a heavy thud before scrubbing her hands against her jeans.

       Edith had gone over Jasper’s instructions at least five times, and that was before even attempting to start the process. She had even called him in order to check that yes, it really required that much cumin, that no, she couldn’t use vidalia onions she could only- only- use red, and kohlrabi was, in fact, a real vegetable. Heck, even finding a store that carried kohlrabi had been difficult, and that was without the added stress of her not being able to apparently pronounce it correctly when she had asked where it was. By the time everything had been mixed, her apartment smelled like the equivalent of a spice-laden pipe bomb constructed out of potatoes, garlic, onion, and ten pounds of other oddly matched spices.

       This was supposed to be easy, Jasper had said.

       And really, she shouldn’t even be worrying about this.

       But- and again, nothing had been meant by the comment, but somewhere in the back and forth between Ben and his brother, while Edith stared at the tiny black and white Benny looking up at his mother with a face of such adoration, Daniella had asked about their mom’s cooking.

       “Jasper has a book,” she had said, pointing over her shoulder to the kitchen, “chalk full of recipes. He says it was your mom’s? He never uses it though.”

       Edith could feel Ben tense next to her, “Oh, so that’s where it went.”

       “Ben, for the love of god-”

       “No, no it’s just nice to know that it was kept with the silverware. And the candle holders. And the everything else.”

       She had placed a careful hand on his arm as he ground the last words out, a reminder to play nice, just as Danny shot her a look along with a staccato’s giggle which seemed to frost over in the sudden cool between the brothers.

       “Oh, right, you know- I mean, you know- from what Jasper tells me, your mom was an… interesting cook.”

       Jasper took the bait, laughing, “Oh my god Ben, remember her brisket?”

       For a split-second Edith had been worried it wouldn’t work. He had that tilt to his chin and that tightness working the corner of his mouth and that usually meant he was about to start a fight, but his cement features cracked just a bit-just enough- for him to edge out, “I still think her gefilte was better.”

       “Oh jeeze, and the cholent!”

       “And the hamantash.”

       “Haven’t had that stuff in years.”

       “Same, you can’t even get lox out where I am.”

       And it was fine, it really was fine, but it was in the middle of the banter that was so very much preferred over the argument that could have been that it happened. He said it- and he probably didn’t even think about it but he still said it- and she shouldn’t even be mad because there was nothing to be mad about, and besides, she wasn’t mad- this wasn’t anger, it was just- okay maybe it was a little bit of anger, but sue her, what was she supposed to feel when Ben let slip he missed his mother’s cooking.  

       In fact, apparently, he missed it ‘All the time.’

       Well.

       …Well.  

       Needless to say, they had left shortly after that, but not before Edith had pulled Jasper aside and asked him if maybe it would be okay for him to send her one of the recipes.

       Just one.

       Later, so Ben wouldn’t see.

       And Jasper, for his part, had been exceptionally eager to help, insisting he’d page through and try to find something his brother had really enjoyed.

       Which landed her where here, at her stove top, trying to get the latka mix into the bubbling oil without causing a catastrophe.

       She could do this, Edith knew that. It wasn’t a matter of whether or not she was capable of cooking. In all truths, cooking, she felt, was one of the only things she could do fairly easily. Not necessarily by recipe, but more by feel. It didn’t take much to look around a kitchen and come up with something edible. Still, that didn’t mean that following Jaspers scrawl would be impossible. She could do this.

       It’s just that this whole thing seemed like an absolutely terrible idea, and no matter how many times Edith told herself this, she still couldn’t talk her way out of it.

       Taking a deep breath, she picked up the spoon that still had the mix and gingerly dropped it into the cooking oil. After watching it hiss and froth for a moment, it settled, cooking as it should, and good- that was a good sign- that meant things were going okay. She proceeded to fill the pan with lumps of the potato mix until she was left with an empty bowl. The directions just said it had to be watched now, watched and monitored and flipped when necessary.

       She could do that.

       She could totally do that.

       She just… didn’t think…it was supposed to be smoking.

       Edith darted to the other side of the kitchen, pulling out a thermometer which she gently placed in the oil, watching the needle rise. The peanut oil wasn’t even near it’s smoking point yet. Was there something wrong with the mix? Was there just something wrong in general? Should she turn down the heat or no- the directions said to cook it on high? It was on high. What was wrong?

       “Hey, is something burning?”

       Edith whipped around to see Ben paused in the threshold of her apartment, his hand still on the doorknob, while just behind her the latkas caught fire.

       “Oh...,” she didn’t even have it in her to be surprised at this point, “Well that’s not supposed to happen.”

       Behind her, Ben made that very distinct noise he made when he was about to go into a panic, something like a whale trying to signal it’s having a heart attack. She shut the stove off, grabbing the pan lid and slamming it down to smother the flames as she pointed behind her towards the door he had just walked through.

       “Out.”

       “But-!”

       “For the love of god, Ben, OUT! Just give me thirty minutes and get OUT!”

       There was a moment of unintelligible stuttering, where she could hear his shoes squeaking against her linoleum as he came closer to help before he backtracked, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the magnets on her refrigerator.

       Edith sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand as she felt the beginnings of a migraine start to pound. The smoke coiled in looping curls, slowly sucked up by the hood vent fan, and she’d have set it to high if she didn’t need the quiet to think.

       Why, of all things, did this catch fire. It could have done just about anything else to signify that something was wrong, but no, no, it caught fire. It didn’t even make any sense, she did everything- she swore by it. Picking up the recipe, she squinted at the tight cursive, ticking the directions off in her head one by one as she made her way down the list. She had done the latka mix right, if nothing else, it was just when she went to put it in the-

       …In the…

       “Hell’s bells,” Edith muttered, looking at the pan. That wasn’t peanut oil. She never got peanut oil. No, she, like an absolute idiot, had just used the virgin olive oil she had in the cupboard and totally forgot it had to be peanut oil, and it had to be peanut oil because it had a higher flash point, which would have kept it from catching fire.

       Because that’s a thing you don’t want to happen when you cook.

       This whole thing was a bad idea, and she had known that going in, and she knew it now, staring at the wreck. Still though, still, she could not figure out what drove her to this, what made her want to take the challenge of this on so badly outside of the fact that…she was a good cook, damn it. She was a good cook and she knew it, and maybe it was stubborn frustration, and maybe it was pride, but if Ben missed his mother’s cooking, well then, didn’t she have every right and reason to try and see if she couldn’t recreate it? Not that she wanted to recreate it exactly- she was most certainly not Ben’s mother- but just- god damn it she just-

       Was it weird, to feel the ghost of expectation hovering just behind you, with a name and a face you did not know, placed there by nobody, and yet still whispering how nothing is going to be good enough?

       Edith wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t, but she did allow herself time for a few deep breaths and a long look into the depths of her ceiling just to be absolutely sure before directing her attention back to the task at hand. She didn’t have any of the batter left, at all. Considering how long it took her to make and the fact that she’d need to factor in time to get more onions, starting from scratch was a no-go. She didn’t want to quit either, though. No, she had worked hard on this damn it, and she wanted to surprise him, even if she…yelled at him to get out of her apartment.

       …Oh, joy.

       With a sigh, Edith slowly lifted the lid to eyeball the charred lumps of potato mix sitting in the oil. They looked completely unsalvageable, and, quite frankly, smelled like it too. Taking the spoon she had thrown into the sink, she cautiously cut one open to further inspect the damage, only to find it completely uncooked.

       Oh.

       Oh that- that wasn’t so bad. Explained why the smoke smell wasn’t as awful as it could have been.

       Still.

       Edith turned to look at what was left of the potatoes sitting in a bin down at the end of the counter. She had only used half the bag, so…she could… Well, it would take an excessively long amount of time if she did the original recipe, but she could- she had chives, and just- Did she have enough eggs? A quick check in the fridge showed that yes, she did, as well as the good cheddar cheese and just enough sour cream that if she wanted to, she could garnish it. It would be more like a breakfast kinda thing but- but who doesn’t love breakfast for dinner, right? And okay, there wasn’t any more kohlrabi either but it would be fine, yeah? She could make it fine. She could even put that bacon in, the thick-cut turkey stuff she picked up and tucked to the back of her freezer when she wasn’t sure if Ben would be able to eat regular bacon.

       She could do this.

       She just needed to do it….now, absolutely now oh jeeze Ben would be back soon.

       Grabbing the potatoes and the shredder, Edith set to work with a fury. This was going to work out- she would be sure of it. She just needed to get everything mixed and then- and then when she shaped the latkas, she just had to make them smaller. Yeah- that would work. Edith chucked the shreds of spuds into the bowl, which was soon followed by chives, and eggs, and garlic, and anything else Edith could get her hands on that she thought would work. As soon as she was done dicing the turkey bacon, she mixed everything, made the latkas, threw them in the pan, and set them to cook.

       And it was only once that had been finished that she finally rested against the counter again.

       So close to being done. So close to being done done done. She just couldn’t mess this part up, she couldn’t. And it would be fine, it was going to be fine. Edith was doing this her way now, and she knew her cooking better than anyone else, which meant that so long as she kept an eye on the pan, everything was going to be absolutely fine.

       The door cracked open.

       “Is it safe to come in yet?”

       Edith took a deep breath, gripping the lip of the counter until she breathed out, “Yeah, we’re all good in here.”

       She watched as Ben shouldered the door open the rest of the way, his hands busy with the handles of bags that swung heavy about his knees. There was a hesitation in his face, and it was impossible to stop the guilt that crawled along the inside of her ribcage as he looked from her to the stove and back again.

       “I, uh,” he coughed, kicking the door closed behind him as he lifted the bags onto the table, “I picked up some…stuff…but it looks like dinner’s going to be fine?"

       Edith bristled, but forced her voice to be even, “Yeah, dinner’s going to be fine.”

       “…Are you-?”

       “Ben-”

       “Okay, okay,” he held up his hands, “I’ll put this in the fridge. It’s alright.”

       She watched as he pulled from the bag several heavy take-out containers from the Chinese place down the way, and for a split second, there was a very real part of her that was angry. Did he doubt her? Why did he doubt her? She was fine- she could do this. There was no reason to think she was going to fail so- He didn’t even know what she was trying to do, fair, but just-

       “I got you your General Tso, but I couldn’t remember if we still had honey here, so I stopped by the Starbucks and…well, it’s on there, anyway.”

       “…What?”

       “They’ve got that honey dispenser thing?  It’s a little-“ he set the container in the fridge, shutting the door with one hand as he tried to explain the shape with the other, “little metal thing with a weird sliding lid? I- well I walked in and-“

       “You went-Ben, let me get this right- You went into the Starbucks... to get me honey... for my Chinese food?”

       “Well, it’s not like they were going to tell me no.”

       Oh shit, this was why she loved him.

       She realized that laughing was probably not the best thing to do, but she couldn’t help it, and the concern on his face only grew the longer she couldn’t stop herself.

       “I mean- I bought a coffee, so I still had a reason to be in there.”

       “Oh my god, Ben.”

       “No but- I wasn’t going to go and buy a whole thing of honey if I wasn’t sure!”

       “Oooh my god, Ben.”

       “Listen-”

       “No, shh, shh-shh-shh- stop talking-“ she chuckled, walking over to hold him, just to hold him, “Just stop talking.”

       And he did, wrapping his arms around her in return. Edith could feel the tenseness in his shoulders as he stood there, still unsure, and she kissed him there in the juncture of his neck just to let him know that no, things actually were, truly okay.

       “Hey,” Ben muttered quietly, “uh, there’s something smoking on the-”

       “NO there is NOT!”

       Edith whipped around, rushing back to the stove to shut the burner off before grabbing a plate and quickly moving the latkas from the pan to safer ground. Dropping the pan into the sink, she triumphantly turned, plate in hand.

       “Dinner,” she grinned, “is served.”

       Ben, to his credit, said nothing, but his face was enough for Edith to wilt a bit which. Shuffling her feet, she found herself unable to make eye contact with him as she fished a set of forks out of the drawer.

       “It’s, um, it’s- well it’s not, but- but I tried and-Jasper sent me the recipe-“

       “Who did what now?”

       Edith took a deep breath, still not looking up from her death grip on the plate which was now shaking, “Listen, the last time we were at your brother’s house you- you made a comment about missing your mom’s cooking.”

       “…I did?”

       She looked up then, greeted by a face that only showed confusion, “You did. You and Jasper both said something about it.”

       Slowly, the face morphed, the confusion bleeding away as the eyebrows lifted and half his mouth bent into a cautious smile, “Edith, are you sure I wasn’t being sarcastic?”

       “I- why?”

       “Because my mother was a shit cook.”

       “…Oh,” Edith wasn’t sure she was breathing. The kitchen was silent save for the ticking of the clock and the pounding of blood in her ears as her face grew hot until, finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and slammed the plate down on the countertop, “Oh hell’s bells, Benjamin!”

       And he laughed, bursting out with that gasping cackle as he fell forward, hands catching his knees so as to not completely topple over, and Edith couldn’t help but break into giggles. Oh god, oh god- all this for- no wonder the recipe sounded so off.

       “I knew-” she groaned into her hands, once the giggles had mostly worked themselves out, “Oh, this was such a bad idea.” Edith felt him kiss her forehead, and she fell forward with a dramatic sigh to land against him, where he wrapped his arms around her. She could feel the laughter echo in his chest, and she moved her hands to grip his shirt as she buried her face in the fabric there, “I am so sorry- I was so angry, I just couldn’t get this right and-“

       “Oh no,” he said, and she could practically feel him smiling, “oh no no no, this is Jasper’s fault, and that little fucker’s gonna get a call from me-”

       “He was trying to be helpful.”

       “He was trying to be an asshole, but that’s fine. Next time we visit, I’m bringing him some of that fruitcake Tara makes.”

       “He’s gonna get sick if you do that!”

       “He’s gonna know what revenge tastes like.”

       “Oh my god, Ben.”

       Edith could feel him laugh again, and again his lips pressed to her forehead, before he pulled back and, in a careful tone, quietly asked, “But- please tell me you didn’t actually follow the recipe.”

       “The first time I did, almost, but it caught fire.”

       “Oh, so you can cook like mom then.”

       She smacked his chest lightly, “Stop it. Really, I was trying to do something nice.”

       “I know you were, and it means a lot to me… but I truly never want to taste that food again.”

       “Then you’ll be pleased to know I winged it on the second try.”

       “Thank god,” she felt one of his arms move away, and she pulled back to see him reaching over to pick one of the latkas up, totally missing the forks.

       “Ben, they’re hot.”

       “That’s fine,” he said, not looking as he blew on it carefully before taking a bite. When he froze, though, Edith panicked.

       “I didn’t put the ginger in, or- or the-”

       Looking out of the corner of his eye, he asked quietly, “Did you put bacon in this?”

       “It’s turkey bacon!”

       A fit of giggles broke over Ben, and he turned away as he tried to finish chewing. Edith took this as a good sign, but still, she could feel the tension winding higher as she waited for the results. Though it was only a brief pause, it felt like forever until he turned back around, still smiling.

       “I’m so glad you’re here.”

       “Ben, stop. Just tell me if it tastes okay. I’ve been feeling like I’m going nuts trying to make sure this was fine.”

       “Of course it tastes okay, it tastes wonderful.”

       “Oh thank god.”

       They both laughed then, foreheads pressed together in the glow of the hood vent. Edith took a fork and picked one up off the plate as Ben said, “I don’t know if it’s still a latka? With the meat? But honestly, I couldn’t care less.”  

       “So long as everything’s okay.”

       “More than okay,” he kissed her temple as she took a bite, “Way better than okay.”


End file.
